Realisation
by shakespeare's sister
Summary: Sometimes things take a while to sink in. Especially if you're a naive, 17 year old Remus Lupin. SBRL.


Remus was overcome with the same emotion that flooded him every time. He couldn't remember the first time it had happened, but now he was conscious of a guilty, secret pleasure every time they indulged in some stupid physical horseplay, or when they messed around pretending to flirt, but especially, most of all, when they talked for hours into the night, confiding, or 'confiding', as Remus called it to himself, the inverted commas painfully emphasised.

He had lost count of the number of times he had struggled to make sense of it in his mind, lying awake into the small hours, only falling asleep when the first streaks of light in the dark sky started to appear. In contrast to the gradual way the guilty feeling had crept up on him, he could pinpoint exactly the day he had started to determine what it was that he was unconsciously suppressing.

It was a beautiful autumn day.

'Perfect Quiddich weather!' James Potter had told them eagerly that Saturday morning at breakfast as he bolted his porridge and raced off to collect his broom. Peter Pettigrew had followed him off as ever, and Remus had been left sitting in the dining hall with him. _Him_. Sirius Black, charmer of unwary females and creator of havoc in lessons he disliked (which was quite a few).

'Don't fancy it?' Remus had asked ingenuously of him.

Sirius had shaken his head and pulled a grimace.

'Why not? Late night...?' Remus had enquired with just the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes.

'Nope. Just not in the mood,' Sirius had replied, pulling himself together enough to smile beguilingly at Remus. Remus knew very well that this captivating smile was designed to make him drop a subject which was clearly somewhat unwelcome. He wondered what it was that was irritating his friend, and his curiosity and concern overcame his desire not to pry.

'What's the matter, Sir?' he asked with the contraction of 'Sirius' that he had been the first to invent. It was more of a 'sear' than a 'sir', but not quite either.

'What do you mean?' Sirius asked, widening his eyes and looking convincingly bemused. Remus wasn't persuaded.

'You're strange this morning. No Quiddich, you're really quiet, and you look like you're about to face quadruple Potions. What's up?'

'Let's go for a walk,' Sirius growled. The false smile had slipped and his face looked stormy and angry. Remus nodded, slightly afraid, grabbed his cup of tea and followed Sirius hesitantly out of the hall.

He had to walk quickly to keep up with Sirius's long-legged stride, and Sirius paid no attention to him.

'Could we slow down a bit?' Remus panted after a few minutes.

'Oh – yes, yes,' Sirius said abstractedly, and cut his pace, but in a few minutes he was walking as quickly as ever. Remus glanced sideways at him but said nothing – yet.

Soon they found themselves out on the south side of the castle. The sun was brilliant through the chilly air and shone on the dying leaves of the trees.

'Bit too bright for Quiddich,' Remus commented, just to say something, and unexpectedly Sirius laughed.

'You're right – of course. Aren't you always? Jamie'll be disappointed, poor bugger. He's so desperate for the bloody season to start he can't sit still in any bloody lessons.'

Remus nodded and then there was silence again.

'The reason,' Sirius said suddenly, turning to face him, 'that I am being 'strange' this morning is that I received an Owl late last night from my dearest darling parents to tell me I am not welcome in their house next holiday, or indeed ever. I am officially homeless.'

Remus gasped. 'Why?' he asked.

Was it his imagination or did Sirius look – shifty?

'The usual,' Sirius said airily, looking off into the distance. 'They hate me being a Gryffindor, a disgrace to the Noble House of Black, having fun, needling Regulus, having friends with Muggle parents... their pet hates, in fact.'

'But Sirius, you've been like that for _years_,' Remus said earnestly, and Sirius smiled wryly. 'Why suddenly this, suddenly now?'

'Your guess is as good as mine,' Sirius said, still looking away. He tucked a bit of his hair behind his ear before turning back to Remus and grinning wearily.

'Could be worse, I s'pose,' he said.

'_How_?'

'I'm sure my esteemed folks could think of a way...'

Remus nodded. That was probably true.

'So. Sorry I've been such a grump. And sorry to lay all this on you – you always seem to end up with the rest of us whining at you, Re. You should tell us where to shove our boring problems!'

Remus laughed. 'Who would you whine at then?' he asked. 'I like you talking to me, Sir. I'd be a rubbish friend if I didn't stick with you when things are bad as well as good.'

'Oh, you and your 'duties' and your 'right and wrong',' Sirius teased. Next second, though, he was deadly serious. 'I don't mean I _want_ you to stop listening. I don't know what I'd do without you here to help me out when everything fucks up. I need you around, Re.'

And just like that, Remus knew. He knew he needed to be needed by Sirius, to be the only one who knew to what extent the carefree exterior was just a façade. He knew he loved him. But that fact only made him miserable.


End file.
